John McCrae was born in Guelph, Ontario, Canada, in 1872. He was graduated in arts in 1894 and in medicine in 1898. He finished his studies at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and returned to Canada, joining the staff of the Medical School of McGill University. He was a lieutenant of artillery in South Africa (1899-1900) and was in charge of the Medical Division of the McGill Canadian General Hospital during the World War. After serving two years, he died of pneumonia, January, 1918, his volume _In Flanders Fields_ (1919) appearing posthumously. Few who read the title poem of his book, possibly the most widely-read poem produced by the war, realize that it is a perfect rondeau, one of the loveliest (and strictest) of the French forms. IN FLANDERS FIELDS In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields. _Ford Madox Hueffer_ Ford Madox Hueffer was born in 1873 and is best known as the author of many novels, two of which, _Romance_ and _The Inheritors_, were written in collaboration with Joseph Conrad. He has written also several critical studies, those on Rossetti and Henry James being the most notable. His _On Heaven and Other Poems_ appeared in 1916. CLAIR DE LUNE I I should like to imagine A moonlight in which there would be no machine-guns! For, it is possible To come out of a trench or a hut or a tent or a church all in ruins: To see the black perspective of long avenues All silent. The white strips of sky At the sides, cut by the poplar trunks: The white strips of sky Above, diminishing-- The silence and blackness of the avenue Enclosed by immensities of space Spreading away Over No Man's Land.... For a minute ... For ten ... There will be no star shells But the untroubled stars, There will be no _Very_ light But the light of the quiet moon Like a swan. And silence.... Then, far away to the right thro' the moonbeams "_Wukka Wukka_" will go the machine-guns, And, far away to the left _Wukka Wukka_. And sharply, _Wuk_ ... _Wuk_ ... and then silence For a space in the clear of the moon. II I should like to imagine A moonlight in which the machine-guns of trouble Will be silent....